Clipped Wings
by enakoritsi
Summary: A bird with clipped wings, unable to ascend freely through the skies, their tortured appendages a symbol of defeat for all to see. No one can ever be completely free. There's always someone ready to clip your wings.


_Author's Note_: I really don't know why I keep writing these things, but here's another 'character thought thing.' It's just Deidara thinking about the Akatsuki and his art and what not, nothing really special and nothing people don't already know :). I really hope he's in character, since this is the first Naruto thing I've ever written, and I'm not as confident with it as KH. I'm not sure if I got a few details and spellings right, but oh well I tried. I hope you like it anyway.

Please review. Any comments or constructive critism would be appreciated. Thank you.

_Disclaimer_: I do not own Naruto or any of its characters.

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.:. _Clipped Wings_ .:.

I _hate_ this place. It's suffocating, rapacious, and down right uninspiring.

As I felt the soothing, rich texture of the clay against my fingers, I let out a deep breath while I looked out towards the sky. There weren't many Akatsuki members who ventured outside often, with the excuse of a mission; therefore the beautiful canvas stretched above was all mine to enjoy. The streaks of red and orange paint, with a dash of purple or yellow here and there, were captivating in a non-oppressive way. The fact that it would be gone in only a few more minutes only made the scene more perfect.

Knowing by instinct that it was ready, I began molding the clay slowly, being in no rush as I let my thoughts wander. I could feel miniature, detailed wings molding against the palm of my hand, each feather scratching against the skin. Even though I hadn't thought about it specifically, my creation was smoothly evolving into a faultless bird, one which would soon become my work of art.

Opening my palm, I tossed the completed bird gracefully into the air, watching it make a fine arch before moving my fingers in the correct handsign. A cloud of smoke burst from the minute sculpture, and I let it blow back my hair and whisk my coat around me fiercely. Waiting for the billows to settle, I leaped skillfully through the air and landed on the smooth back of the bird expertly. Commanding it silently, I guided it off the ground and it thrust out its powerful wings elegantly before flying off towards the horizon.

Leading it up higher, I stood atop its snowy white back, breathing in the scent of fresh earth that always accompanied my art before the odor of fire and brimstone took over. Watching the glowing orb known as the sun settle even lower behind the mountains, I noticed the familiar feeling of the sun coming closer, even while it is only moving farther away. It was a simple illusion, but also a disheartening one, so I sat down upon the back of my bird with my back towards the deceitful fire.

This new position gave me an ideal view of the Akatsuki base, which melded in with the forest surroundings as surreptitiously as a needle in a hay stack. I doubted anyone would notice my short disappearance, and if I was noted missing there weren't many who would care in the slightest.

It was almost disappointing.

We were all part of this organization, moving towards one goal together, yet we didn't care whether our comrades lived or died. If I fell off my bird right now and fell to my death, no one would do more than bat an eye. They simply didn't care. It was sort of a good thing too though, because I didn't have to care about anyone either.

Lifting my eyelids slowly, I took in the darkening sky, moving my vision over the limitless space hungrily. The sky was a motivation, a muse, an insight…it symbolized infinite numbers of things and was so intense yet so placid. It changed constantly, never the same even for an instant, and every time one looks at it, they don't know what to expect. Beyond that though, it's absolutely immeasurable. Its vast folds can never be completely discovered or recorded; the sky is free in the truest way. No one can control it or tie it down, and no one can command it or even chastise it. Only birds could soar higher into the foggy depths, deeper than humans ever could, and I wish I could be one of them on their timeless flight.

I wish I could be like a bird, flying wherever I pleased whenever I wanted. If only I could flap my wings and soar through the air without anyone to bring me crashing down to Earth… No one can control the birds; they're flight is almost as limitless as the sky. I used to be like that, wild and free with the land before me just waiting for my imprint. Now I could still be said to be like a bird, only my wings have been clipped.

Pausing in my reminisce, one of my hands moved upwards to trace the mechanical scope that covered my left eye. The cold metal burned my hand like frozen fire, and the hard material seemed cruel against my fingers. Lowering my hand, it fell listlessly to my side and began running along the soft back of the bird absentmindedly.

A bird with clipped wings…unable to ascend freely through the skies… their tortured appendages a symbol of defeat for all to see. It becomes pitied, mocked; a sign for other's to note: No one can _ever_ be completely free. There's always someone ready to clip your wings.

Frowning, I could suddenly feel my scope five times more noticeably against my skin. The Akatsuki cloak around my body felt as heavy as iron and just as thick as a humid fog. Anger and frustration began to boil through me like fiery magma, and in my fury I almost detonated the very sculpture I was flying on.

It was _his _fault! That contemptuous, arrogant Uchiha! If it weren't for him, I'd still be living as I wanted, with no commands and only my art, which was all I really needed. He defeated me, humiliated me, and now I'm stuck in this place full of idiots who don't even appreciate the beauty of explosions!

Slamming my fist into the hardened clay, a dent formed in the even surface and the bird twitched a little, displaying instability. Not ready to go out with a bang just yet, I hurriedly formed a small clay spider with the damp clay in my pouch, tossing it into the air when I was finished.

_"Katsu!"_

The explosion was small and short lived, but I grinned crazily at the sight. The smoke, the fire, the sound; all of it was captivating and flawless. The magnificence of my art calmed me slightly, and the smile stayed plastered to my face even when the sky cleared again. It was amazing. All that passion and effort comprised into a single moment, a second on the spectrum of life that would soon fade away to nothing. All that would be left is the memories, and that is the true beauty of my art.

My explosions are unforgettable. Once they are viewed, their perfection can never be truly forgotten, their splendor never completely erased from the mind. People miss it, earn for it and build it up in their minds because it can never be seen again. They long to see the beauty one more time, the passion of that moment, but all they have left is the vision secured in their minds. They treasure it, cultivate it, and remain in awe for the rest of their lives.

Then, as time passes, the recollection becomes harder to recall, the fleeting beauty begins fading from their less than meticulous memories. They rush to tell others the story, so they don't forget, and then these new people have heard the legend of my great art. It's a never ending cycle; its brilliance all the more renowned and appreciated because it cannot be seen. If the blast could be replayed for anyone to view, what would make it special?

The last traces of the explosions swept away by the wind, I stared down at my hands. The mouths opened, lolling their tongues out lazily while I looked on with slight interest. Closing the hands into fists, I directed the bird to fly higher up, as we had been descending slightly since the detonation. Raising a hand to my chest, I pressed the calm against the left side of my cloak lightly, feeling the stitching even through the fabric.

I wonder what it feels like, to really be a part of the grand moment. It has to be incredible, to feel the fire of the explosion against your skin, to see the light burst before your eyes, actually becoming part of the art itself. The final moment before the rush of sound sends you reeling into oblivion…it must be fantastic. Eventually I'll experience that pleasure myself, but not yet. I need to defeat him first.

One day though, my death is going to be amazing. My body will sizzle with the heat of the explosion, my hands will form the seal one last time, and then the beauty will stun the entire world. Just like my art, I'll go out with a bang! Never again will anyone look down on my art with those patronizing eyes. It'll be a story the whole universe will remember, an explosion unlike any other!

Just the thought of that day makes my heart start its rapid beating and causes my blood to boil with anticipation. It'll be a mind-blowing revelation to all, and a grand triumph of my own. The only downfall is that I won't be able to see all of their faces after I blow them away with my final piece of art, especially Sasori Danna's.

Seeing the scene realistically in my mind, I let out a laugh as a strong breeze pulled back my hair. I wonder how he's going to feel when he realizes the foolishness of his own art, the stupidity he's been preaching for so long. Closing my eyes in contentment, a smirk still painted on my lips, I couldn't help but let out a little laugh. It would almost be as priceless as the look on Itachi's face would be when I finally defeated him.

I can't wait to see that proud head brought low in the shame of defeat, those patronizing eyes forced shut in the agony of lost pride. In fact, I'll probably blow them out of his head just from pure spite. I laughed again. Yeah, that would be the perfect thing to do. Without those eyes, he's worthless, nothing for than average. Those Sharingan are just a mask of strength for him to hide behind, and I'm going to blow that façade to bits soon enough.

Shifting my half-lidded eyes back in the direction of the base, I commanded the bird to stop its restless flight. Flapping its wings calmly, we stayed in place for a few minutes, the rhythmic shifting of air soothing against the silence. With a nod of the head, I recognized that the sun had set, leaving the sky a dark midnight blue. The only light came from a few chance stars struggling to shine against the oppressive darkness. I admired their effort.

Turning the bird back towards whence it came, we made our way steadily through the night, and I watched our destination move closer and closer with dread.

One day, I'd soar through the sky on my own wings, and I'd finally be free.


End file.
